


Editing v Suggesting

by treefrogie84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, How Do I Tag, Metafiction, Siblings, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 05:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: His deadline is in two days, he's been stuck for a week and he has no idea what happens next. So Amara comes to visit.





	Editing v Suggesting

_“Yes!” Amanda chants breathlessly, her chest heaving._

_Dean’s hand swept up Amanda’s flank, coming to rest heavily on her hip while he pushed her hair back with his other hand. Stretching himself above her, he--_

“Does what, exactly?” Chuck says bitterly, looking at the unfinished sentence from last week. “She’s a lesbian and he’s in love with someone else and what the fuck am I even doing with this?”

“Looking for love in all the wrong places?” Amara asks coolly. “You could make her not a lesbian.”

“And fuck up her entire sense of self? This is _not_ Sam Winchester’s straight panic.” Chuck slops some whiskey into whatever cup is at his elbow before swallowing it blindly.

That’s a mistake-- apparently at some point, he’d started using that mug as an ashtray. Coughing and sputtering, he gropes blindly for the trashcan so he can puke.

“A) yes, you can fuck up her entire sense of self-- you’re God,” Amara points out, voice carrying over the noise. “B) You’ve spent entirely long as a human, brother.”

Chuck weakly pulls his head out, a trembling hand pushing his hair out of his face. “Or you didn’t spend long enough.”

Amara arches an eyebrow, perches on the far edge of the table with a martini in hand. “We both know why that is, brother. Do not start with that shit again.”

“Fine,” Chuck pouts, carefully deleting the gibberish he’d typed while scrambling for the trash can. “But that doesn’t _help_.”

“Blow something up. Blow Dean up! Isn’t that one of those trite writing advice bits?” She pauses for a moment, takes a sip of her drink. “Or kill Amanda, replace her with someone better.”

“Like who? The deadline on this is in two days and I’ve already turned in the proposal!”

Amara holds out a hand, snapping her fingers. “Let me see it.”

Sighing, Chuck makes a copy appear on the table next to her, burying his hands in his hair and thumping his head against the table. “Will you get me a beer? And a clean glass?”

“No,” Amara says, bent over the paper. “You’re God, get your own.” 

Chuck drags himself over to the bar, pours himself a beer-- shittily-- and leans against it, watching Amara in the mirror. She’s pulled pen from nowhere and is marking something, but he can’t tell what. He waits for a couple minutes, but when she shows no indication of finishing anytime soon, he wanders over towards the stage. Maybe doing something else--

“Don’t,” Amara warns. “If I’m helping you with this, then we’re working on _this_ , not me working and you dicking around.”

“Fine. How the hell should I fix it?”

“For one thing, lose Amanda. You’re right, she’s a lesbian and it’s not going to solve the Destiel problem. For another, change your proposal. For fuck’s sake, brother. ” She tilts her head, slipping off the table and into his seat. Flexing her fingers, she thinks for a moment and starts typing. 

“What’s another word for turgid?” Amara asks a few minutes later. “They’re all weird.”

“Yeah, I possibly should have put more thought into that when I was creating humans.” Chuck thinks for a moment, watching Amara’s fingers tap away at the keys. “Uh… Bloated? Wait, no. That’s a terrible idea. Swollen?”

She makes a face, but types it in and keeps going. Eventually, she clicks something and slides out of his chair, heading for the bar. 

Chuck reclaims his seat and moves the cursor until he doesn’t recognize what’s been written… approximately two pages from the beginning, all of which was setting. “Really?”

“It was terrible and you know it. If you ditch her, you have to start all over.”

_The other man slides off the mechanical bull, having ridden it into submission, and tosses a wink Dean’s way, reclaiming his cowboy hat from a friend. A group follows him back to the bar, cheering and celebrating._

_Dean waits a few minutes, long enough for the crowd to dissipate some, before trying his luck. That wink had to mean something, right? And the hat… that’s doing something for him._

_Flagging down the bartender, he orders a beer and a shot for himself and has him add the bull rider’s drink to his tab. Dean waits a few more minutes, until the man has fully recovered, before sauntering over._

“Sauntering, really?”

“If you don’t like it, write your own hunter-cowboy bachelor porn.”

_“Anybody sitting here?” Dean asks, claiming the stool anyway and greedily watching the man wrap his lips around the shot glass and tilt it back. “You should show up more often.”_

_The man smirks, leaning in towards Dean. “You should think up better lines.”_

_Dean’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, gaping. “I--”_

_“Bartender says I’ve got you to thank for drinking for free tonight?” He smiles, leans back a bit to obviously check Dean out. “Anything else you want to buy me while we’re… talking?”_

_“So many things,” Dean babbles, flushing red when he realizes that he said that out loud, and while the bar is loud, it’s not so noisy that Bullrider won’t have heard him._

_“Eliot, by the way, since you’ve apparently forgotten how this goes. And you are?”_

_“Dean.”_

_“Now that we’ve gotten the preliminaries out of the way--” Eliot grabs hold of Dean’s work shirt and drags him closer. “Go ahead and kiss me.”_

It devolves from there: making out against the bar until the bartender kicks them out, a short trip home with some love for Dean’s car, into the cheap motel room for-- Chuck skims ahead-- for fairly tame, but athletic sex in a number of positions, one of which he’s not entirely certain human beings can replicate. 

“How much porn did Crowley introduce you to?” he asks, astonished.

Amara shrugs, lifting her martini to her lips and taking a long sip. “Not much on active parenting that one. He gave me have unfettered access to Tumblr.”

“It’s a family trait.” Chuck looks back over the story again, before nodding. “You’re sure you don’t mind if I--”

“Thank me in your endnotes or something.” She waves him off. “I see why you do this now though. It’s fun playing with other people.”

“Yeah, if you…” Chuck trails off, looks up sharply. “Wait. What did you do?” Frantically, he scans the pages, trying to see what she changed and he missed. It’s only when he checks the upper right corner of the screen that he sees the blue ‘Draft’ button has been replaced with the red ‘Live’ button. 

Hurriedly, Chuck saves changes, exits his word processor, and shoves his phone into Amara’s hands. “You get to deal with the yelling this time. I’m out.”

Ominously, the phone starts to ring in her hands before Chuck can leave his safe place.

**Author's Note:**

> More cosmic sibling bickering: [Blue Marble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199300)  
> More Hunter/Hitter: [Trick of the Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14850399) or, if you want past Dean/Eliot and current Destiel/OT3: [The Renegade Job](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564434)


End file.
